An e-mail newsletter for
and about Waverly people, used with permission in the HLW Herald and on
this web site.

Feb. 3, 2003

The Super Bowl is behind us, but the quotes remain with
us

Now that the Super Bowl is behind us, here are some quotations
which I have been saving for this blessed day.

Upon hearing Joe Jacobi of the Washington Red Skins say,
"I'd run over my own mother to win the Super Bowl," and Matt
Millen of the Oakland Raiders say, "To win, I'd run over Joe's mom,
too."

Torrin Polk, a wide receiver, on his coach, John Jenkins:
"He treats us like men. He lets us wear earrings."

Football commentator and former player Joe Theismann said,
"Nobody in football should be called a genius. A genius is a guy like
Norman Einstein."

NFL coach Bum Phillips, when asked by Bob Costas why he
takes his wife on all the road trips, Phillips responded, "Because
she is too dadgum ugly to kiss goodbye."

The times, they are a-changin'

I think every newspaper in the English speaking world
publishes letters to Santa.

Since I am an incurable newspaper buff and a compulsive
reader, I have read these letters more faithfully than Santa himself.

In my research, I have noticed a shift in children's Christmas
wishes over the last 70 years.

As an example of how we have changed, here are a couple
of letters to Santa printed from The Waverly Star in 1933:

Dec. 14, 1933

Dear Santa,

I want something for Christmas. I want a BB gun, shells
for it, and a pair of boots. My brother, Anthony, wants a BB gun too, and
a caterpillar.

Your friend,

Paul Poirier

There were other poignant requests for candy and nuts
and dolls and toy trucks, including this one:

Dear Santa Claus,

I have four sisters. Their names are Dorothy Ann and Rita
and Bernetta and Margy. Bring for Christmas a game we can play.

Bring Dorothy Ann a story book. Bring Rita a tan scarf
and a pair of mittens. Bring Bernetta a dress. Bring Margy a pair of silk
stockings.

Patricia Marie Klich

Now here's one from this year, Christmas 2002:

Dear Santa,

I want a new cell phone. I want three real rabbits and
$35.

I need a Play Station #2 for my computer along with a
Game Boy. I want my own CD player and some new CDs.

I want some heart pants and a heart shirt with spaghetti
straps. I would like for my daddy to have a new red motorcycle with pockets.

I will leave you some Krispy Kreme donuts and a Dr. Pepper.
I hope you have a nice trip.

Love,

Tiffany

P.S. I would also like the Stuart Little 2 movie.

Small towns r us

I have some good news ­ I have found a new colleague
and future friend as soon as I get to meet him.

I have Commissioner Richard Mattson to thank for this.
He had forwarded to me some work from Brian Lentz, who has dozens of kinfolk
in Minnesota, including Dick Mattson.

Along with his e-mail about his Texas travels, he included
a picture of the Spoetzl family brewery in Shiner, Texas, a photograph
which he had taken himself. I had been to Shiner myself and I have a special
interest in the local brewery.

This may seem disloyal to the land of sky blue waters,
but Shiner Bock Beer is now my drug of choice. The first time I was in
Shiner, I ate in a dusty cafe there on Main Street.

They didn't have a menu, but you ate what the family ate.

The family lived and cooked in their own apartment in
the back of the restaurant. German was spoken there. When it was time to
do the dishes, you were just out of luck. It was then I had my happy introduction
to Shiner Bock Beer.

Shiner, Texas, was settled by immigrants from Germany
and Bohemia. Like the Minnesota immigrants from such places, they brought
along their own "buttermacher" from the old country and their
own "braumeister" and, less often, their own "priester."

Most of these small town breweries and creameries didn't
endure, but thank God the Shiner brewery survived.

A few years back, the Spoetzl family decided to do some
market research to see if they should expand or die. The researchers they
hired came back with this advice: "You have a good product and a good
reputation. The only mistake you are making is that you are not charging
enough for your beer."

So, Shiner doubled its prices and the rest is history.
Consumers figured that if it's expensive, it must be good. Now Shiner is
to Texas what Coors is to Colorado.

Here's the letter from Brian Lentz:

"Hi Jim. Since I was laid off by nLine in December,
I've been taking little road trips to discover Texas a bit more . . .

"I've only lived here a year and I love it . . .
My parents, grandparents, great-grandparents were from Howard Lake . .
.

"Mom and I rode the Great Northern Empire Builder
to Howard Lake from Idaho almost every year to spend the summers with Grandma
and Grandpa Klammer in Howard Lake, and my Great Aunt Ella on Dutch Lake
. . .

"Tiny little world sometimes, isn't it? . . . Let
me know if you can find any connections to the Hengels or Klammers or Shepherds
or Albrechts.

"Highest regards,

Brian Lentz."

The good news is soon Brian and I will be collaborating.
Texas is so huge that it takes at least two travel writers to cover it.
Both of us will look for Minnesota connections.

My idea of a travel writer is John Richards of Corpus
Christi, who has a column today in the Corpus Christi Caller Times entitled
"A Room with a View at the Ranger Motel."

He loves small towns as much as I do, and here is what
he says about small towns in Texas:

"We have known Santa Anna, Texas for decades and
have watched the population drop each census year . . .

"Already, the high school football team has shifted
from regular to six-man football . . . During our time, the town has lost
its lumberyard, hardware, auto parts, and drug stores . . . the story of
Santa Anna is somewhat interesting and a little sad.

"I think Santa Anna is a microcosm of what is taking
place all over Texas. A multitude of small towns, all shrinking and deteriorating,
are trying desperately to stay alive and be a place to call home. Each
has its own unique, out of the ordinary character and fascinating stories
to tell.

"For me, these towns represent Texas as much as,
if not more than, our big cities."

Up front

We are losing World War II veterans at a very fast clip.

Some say as many as 4,000 a day are dying now. Who would
have thought a few years ago that our wonderful young men from Waverly
would be an endangered species?

Nobody captured the spirit of these men better than Bill
Mauldin did in his classic book "Up Front," picturing the GIs
in the infantry during WWII.

When I was young, there were many World War I veterans
around, like Conrad Smith and others from Waverly who had served overseas
and saw the horrors of trench warfare. I wish now I had spent time with
them and asked them more about their life before we lost them all.

Let's take advantage while we can by honoring our WWII
men even more, but for now, let us mourn Bill Mauldin.

Glen Keener sent me this quote after we lost Bill Mauldin
Jan. 21:

"The death of Bill Mauldin and the citation of his
picture of a weeping Lincoln at the Lincoln Memorial (Lincoln bent over
in grief) at the time of the Kennedy assassination reminds me of one of
his pictures that has haunted me for many, many years.

"When Eisenhower died, Mauldin drew a full page picture
in 'Life' magazine. It showed a military cemetery . . . in all its bleakness
. . . and the caption said, 'Pass the word. Ike's here.'

"To this day it makes me weep."

Bill Mauldin described himself as "a New Mexico hillbilly."

The Albuquerque Journal, in its obituary for him after
he died in Santa Fe two weeks ago, described him as a very modest man who
is survived by seven sons.

He had enlisted in 1940 and was assigned as a rifleman
to the 180th infantry division. Soon thereafter, his drawings from the
front were being published in "The Stars and Stripes," the newspaper
for servicemen.

To their credit, they continued to support him even after
he got a face-to-face upbraiding from Gen. George Patton, who apparently
didn't like Mauldin's portrayal of army officers.

Mauldin drew the characters of Willie and Joe, "a
laconic pair of unshaven, mud-encrusted dog faces who slogged their way
through Italy and other parts of battle-scarred Europe, surviving the enemy
and the elements while caustically and sarcastically harpooning the unctuous
and the pompous . . .

He portrayed the tedium and treachery of war, entertaining
and endearing himself to millions of fellow soldiers in the war and to
Americans at home.

Mauldin could not only draw, he could write:

The infantryman

"Dig a hole in your back yard while it is raining.
Sit in the hole until the water climbs up around your ankles.

"Pour cold mud down your shirt collar. Sit there
for 48 hours, and, so there is no danger of your dozing off, imagine that
a guy is sneaking around waiting for a chance to club you on the head or
set your house on fire.

"Get out of the hole, fill a suitcase full of rocks,
pick it up, put a shotgun in your other hand, and walk on the muddiest
road you can find.

"Fall flat on your face every few minutes, as you
imagine big meteors streaking down to sock you.

"After 10 or 12 miles (remember you are still carrying
the shotgun and suitcase), start sneaking through the wet brush. Imagine
that somebody has booby-trapped your route with rattlesnakes which will
bite you if you step on them.

"Give some friend a rifle and have him blast in your
direction once in a while . . . run like hell all the way back to your
hole in the backyard, drop the suitcase and shotgun, and get in.

"If you repeat this performance every three days
for several months, you may begin to understand why an infantryman sometimes
gets out of breath.

"But you still won't understand how he feels when
things get

tough . . . "

And so it goes with Bill Mauldin.

He was buried last week in Arlington National Cemetery.

Next week I hope to tell you of another World War II journalist
who helped us all get through World War II: Ernie Pyle.